


(you are my) favorite hiding place

by ashers_kiss



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (this is about as fluffy as I get), Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Sick!Kirk, spacehusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was it too much to expect someone to have figured out a cure for the freaking cold already?  He’d put Bones on it, he’d have the damn thing figured out in a week.  When Jim could actually move again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you are my) favorite hiding place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Yet again, for [littleblackghost](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackghost/pseuds/littleblackghost) (I swear this is the last time) because she was sick and miserable and this kind of popped into my head as a way to cheer her up. (I'm such a good friend, I know.)
> 
> Title (adapted) from [Bone Burying](http://andrewgibby.tumblr.com/post/30081501111/bone-burying) by Andrea Gibson. (Adapted because...because it's the right sentiment, the _perfect_ sentiment, just the wrong way round for this. Apologies to the amazing Andrea Gibson for messing with her work.)

Jim felt like shit. Everything _hurt_ , and his throat was dry and scratchy. Hell, even his _eyes_ hurt, and they were closed. Had been for a while now, and everything was still too bright. He shoved his head under the pillow and moaned. Mother _fucker_ , was it too much to expect someone to have figured out a cure for the freaking cold already? He’d put Bones on it, he’d have the damn thing figured out in a week. When Jim could actually move again. And talk. Yeah, great plan.

The mattress dipped behind him, and a hand curled over the back of his neck. Jim pushed back into it, couldn’t help it, even though Spock ran too damn hot at the best of times. “Your temperature is elevated,” Spock said, like he was trying to be quiet. Which was kind of sweet. Jim snorted, bit back a cough when it tore into his throat.

“Yeah, genius, that’ll be the fever.”

He could practically hear Spock frowning at him, which wasn’t all that unusual, really. “I will alert Dr McCoy to your condition – ”

“Seriously? You’re gonna let him stick me full of hypos when I’m _sick_? That’s cold.” Jim shuffled himself on to his side and out from under the pillow, squeezing his eyes against the barest gleam of the room (because 10% shouldn’t have been so fucking _bright_ , fuck) and curling around Spock’s knees as best he could. Spock’s hand migrated up into his hair, and it was – pretty soothing, actually. Jim would bet money, _good_ money, that Spock would’ve stopped if he’d brought it up, mentioned the way his thumb kept brushing over the shell of Jim’s ear. “Bones’ got enough to deal with,” Jim murmured eventually, mostly into the thick material of Spock’s uniform. “I’ll be fine. Just – just let me be sick tonight, okay?”

“I fail to see how that will help your recuperation.”

“Trust me.” Jim cracked open an eye, grinned up at him. Tried to anyway. Probably wasn’t very successful, since Spock kept on frowning. Jim liked to think of that as his, you’re being incredibly stupid, even for a human, look.

“Very well,” Spock said, and he was still using that soft, almost careful voice, like he thought Jim was going to break if he spoke too loud. Definitely sweet. (Even if Jim could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard Spock raise his voice. The guy had a way of talking so that you just _listened_ , and Jim was seriously going to have to master that at some point.) “I will leave you to your rest.”

“Hey, no, wait – ” Jim caught his wrist, latched on tight enough that Spock was going to have to hurt him if he wanted to make him let go. He just looked down at him instead, eyebrow raised, caught halfway to standing and making it look good. Jim swallowed against the ache of his throat. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean you needed to _go_.” It came out whiny, plaintive, and Jim kind of wanted to just hide under the sheets for the rest of the night. But Spock tilted his head, and Jim kept hold of his wrist.

“You wish me to stay?”

Jim shrugged. “Kinda sucks being sick and alone.” Then, when Spock just kept looking at him, “Yeah, yes, okay? I want you to stay. And maybe bring me soup.” He frowned. “Shit, wait, you don’t get sick, right? I mean, this, you won’t get this?”

“Vulcan physiology is immune to the common cold.” It was Jim’s turn to keep staring, but in his defence, he was sick, his brain wasn’t entirely making sense. The tiniest of smiles curled at the corner of Spock’s mouth. “No, Jim, I will not get sick.”

“Awesome,” Jim said, because he was an adult, he was _captain_ , he was going to be mature and not bring up the air quotes he totally heard there. He tugged on Spock’s wrist. “Y’gonna come to bed then or what?”

“I believe you requested soup.”

“C’n wait. C’mon, I’m sleepy.” He pulled again, harder, and still Spock just _sat there_. Jim glared at him. “What?”

Oh, he knew that look, he’d been getting that look for _years_ , the “good thing you’re pretty” look. “You will need to release me if I am to prepare for bed.”

Aw, crap. “Crap. Yeah, sure, sorry.” Just because he’d stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed the first chance he’d got, didn’t mean Spock was going to deviate from his routine. (Hell, Jim doubted he would even if he _was_ sick.) He let go, shoved at Spock’s thigh pretty ineffectually. “Hurry up then.” He’d swear Spock almost shook his head; Jim had that effect on people even without long term exposure.

He’d never actually admit it – because then Bones _would_ come after him with the hypos – but he honestly felt _worse_ without Spock beside him. As if the hand in his hair had been holding his skull together or some shit. Especially when it started throbbing, forcing his eyes closed again. He curled up as small as he could manage, tucked his arms against his stomach (because he wasn’t going to hurl, but everything hurt, _everything_ , and his stomach worst of all) and told himself Spock had just been a distraction, it was cool, he could do this. He could. He _could_.

He didn’t, couldn’t even open his eyes when Spock finally slipped between the sheets. “Jim,” Spock said, soft again, hand in Jim’s hair again. Jim couldn’t help it, he hummed, shifted closer.

“Mmm, yeah, m’awake,” he muttered.

He didn’t hear anything for a while – hey, maybe he even managed to drift off – and then Spock was saying something, ordering. “Computer, lights off.” And just like that, the brightness stabbing into Jim’s brain was gone, and he could stop squeezing his eyes so tight. He let himself press right up against Spock, too close to sleep to even be surprised when Spock’s free arm went around his waist, keeping him in place. “Love you,” he said (more a sigh, really), into what he was pretty sure was Spock’s collarbone.

He almost didn’t hear the, “Goodnight, Jim,” before he was completely out.


End file.
